To Be Loved
by FireFlies0
Summary: Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time.


They were a Yo-Yo. Constantly being brought together and torn apart by a thin string of fate as time trudged onward. Kind of like ripping off a bandage after recently putting it on and then putting another on to cover the wound the last bandage left. Aziraphale did that to him. He was like a smooth drink of water on a hot summer's day, satisfying just a bit. Enough for Crowley to get greedy and want more. Then, one of them would have to disappear once more, leaving him yearning and angry that he let himself get so involved.

He had found the word "love" on one of his ventures in Rome. An elderly mortal woman living on the street told him she could see his fate. He had scoffed, "And what could you possibly tell me that I don't know myself." Despite knowing better, he let the old hag lead him into a small shack that blocked out the noise of the market.

"You," she sat down with a grunt and motioned him to do the same across the table, "Are a god among men." The shack was small enough to where Crowley had to crouch to fit inside. He laughed as a reply, "And you are a crazy old bat." She looked at him unfazed at his words, gazed to such an extent that he started to feel uncomfortable.

"You have seen all four corners of this Earth, have seen the heavens above and the horrors below. Pray tell, what is your reason that you live among us?"

Crowley stared back. Irritated by this woman beyond belief. "Okay, lady. If you can read my fate then get on with it, I haven't all day."

"Love."

"What?"

"Love is your reason-"

Crowley sputtered, "What does that even mean?"

She continued, "and love is your fate."

"For what-"

"Who," she corrected.

"Lady, I am not a god. I am a _quite the opposite_ in fact. Whatever gimmick you're trying to pull on me isn't going to work," Crowley's face was crimson. The reason why, he wasn't sure if it was out of frustration or embarrassment. And he didn't get to either emotion easily. His heart beat wildly, there was no way someone like him… _something _like him could experience that trivial mortal emotion.

As he stood to leave, she said a phrase he has not yet forgotten, "_Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur_."

_Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time._

Dozens, possibly hundreds, of nights he's stayed up hearing the same old Roman woman say that stupid phrase. It made him irrational. Crowley didn't deserve love. He had fell for a reason. There was no exception. If he did not feel God's love anymore then he didn't deserve love as a whole. Much less from an angel who was untouchable. In his eyes at least.

But here he was, watching that same untouchable angel put up dusty books on their shelves. He had arranged and rearranged them probably a million times by now, but Aziraphale's reasoning always was that they get complacent. Whatever that meant. Every now and then he'd get distracted by a book he hadn't seen in awhile and get caught up in the pages. Crowley just sat and watched, feeling content by being in the same room. He felt a sense of security here listening to the angel talk about nothing and everything at the same time.

"-and then I told him, 'Well, kind sir I humbly think that everyone needs to feel that at one point'."

Aziraphale looked triumphant and heartily laughed.

"Feel what?"

"Dear, haven't you been listening? Everyone needs to feel love."

The angel looked down from the ladder to Crowley who just stared at him, "What?"

"Oh, Crowley you really should listen when people talk to you. Love, dear boy," he blew some dust off a book cover and continued shelving.

"I have to disagree."

Once again, Aziraphale paused and looked back with a somewhat shocked expression, "Can I ask why?"

Crowley blew out a breath of air and leaned back in his seat lazily, "Because some people aren't built to be."

The response was a shake of the head, "Crowley, God made each human capable of giving and receiving love. Why, it's the beauty of humanity if you ask me."

"Well, answer me this, angel. Why didn't the Lord do the same for us? What kind of love are we able to feel? I don't recall ever experiencing any likeliness," the demon spat out "love" as if it a toxin. Crowley folded his arms, feeling oddly vulnerable in this moment. It'd been so long since he graced heaven that he couldn't recall feeling anything that could be considered love from the Almighty. Maybe Crowley was just incapable of being loved. It makes sense to him. He was a lowly creature compared to Aziraphale who held the world in the palm of his hand.

"You've never felt loved?"

He paused for a moment before speaking. "No."

Crowley felt horrible, ashamed he supposed. He noticed the angel didn't reply quickly and saw in his face that he fucked up somehow. Aziraphale looked crestfallen while looking back at Crowley, almost as if on the verge of tears. "I suppose," he looked at the bookshelf and back, "I suppose I haven't either."

With eyebrows drawing together, Crowley rose his voice, "What are you talking about? You're an angel, Aziraphale. Of course you feel loved."

He watched as his counterpart climbed down the short ladder, "Dear boy, I can't be sure. If anything, there are different types of ways to be loved."

He didn't hear Crowley respond, so Aziraphale continued while carrying a discarded bin of books he decided just weren't worthy for the shelf quite yet to his desk. The desk where Crowley sat.

"The Almighty loves in a certain type of way, but not in a way we can always feel. And beings need a love that is unconditional in a way that we always feel… loved," the angel scratched the back of his head, confusing himself in the process of explaining.

"I would like that."

"To be loved?"

"Unconditionally. Yes, I suppose I would like that."

Aziraphale watched him closely, expecting the other end of a joke or for him to backpedal. But he didn't, instead he settled to clean the smudge off his dark sunglasses, never moving to continue the sentiment or say something cheeky. So, Aziraphale pulled up a second chair.

The angel open and closed his mouth several times. Trying to figure out what to say, "I can do that."

Crowley looked up with wide eyes, "What?"

"You really should pay attention, Crowley. I mean, seriously it gets tiring."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry what did you say?"

"I said," Aziraphale looked pink in the face, "I said I think I can love you. I've been trying to love you for the last couple of millennia." He looked down momentarily, thinking hard, "Maybe I'm just not doing it right."

To say the least, Crowley was dumbstruck. Even the least bit irritated. _That old Roman hag was right all along, damn it._

Like an out of body experience, Crowley reached other almost falling out of his chair and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but it felt right. Right as he was going to pull away, he felt the angel's soft hands against his cheeks pulling him closer. He felt a smile against his cheeks.

"Angel, it's hard to do this when you're grinning."

"I'm sorry! I can't help it. You can't blame me."

Crowley grinned right back, finally feeling completely whole.

And what a feeling it was to be loved.


End file.
